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<title>A Haven In Time by Ediththth</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25792483">A Haven In Time</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ediththth/pseuds/Ediththth'>Ediththth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV), The Umbrella Academy (TV) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:15:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,128</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25792483</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ediththth/pseuds/Ediththth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternative outcome of Klaus reaching out to Dave in the second season of Umbrella Academy. The "What ifs" of Dave not going to war but deciding to build a life with Klaus in the 60s. A further exploration of Klaus' relationship with his powers, addiction, and Dave.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dave/Klaus Hargreeves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Haven In Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>“Are you serious? Do you think the first thing I want to see when I open my eyes is your holey butt?”</em> Two rays of sunlight are sneaking between the holes of this new ghost's butt and are hitting my eyes. The rest of his body is otherwise unharmed. Whoever killed him must have had a hell of a sense of humor; I can’t help but be amused. Not that it makes up for having a stranger’s rear end within touching distance from your eyelashes.</p>
<p>Come to think of it, this type of thing only happens with old-timely ghosts. Screw the manners they cling on to so hard when they’re alive. One look at their translucent bodies and BOOM, all courtesy goes to the trash. Ah, the trash. I guess that’s where my precious wound up, again.</p>
<p>This must be the 4th or 5th time that Dave throws my stuff in the can. Never mind that I end up rumbling through it the next morning, every time. He knows that it will not make a difference. He doesn’t expect it to. He just wants to make <em>his</em> position known. Damn it with <em>him</em> understanding <em>my</em> position.<em> “Klaus, slipping back into junkie habits, cannot control himself- Ha! Here it is”</em>. The small-town, overworked, accidental ghost whisperer to the self-rescue.</p>
<p>The cognac is dripping from the trash as well, but it’s a bit too late to come to its rescue. <em>“I have Rizlas delivered over the ocean just so I do not have to deal with this bullshit.”</em> Sometimes I talk out loud to myself and focus on whatever my fingers are rolling. It makes ghosts feel unseen until they back off.<em> “But one drip of alcohol on them and they’re as useless as any. This paper is so crumpled, it’s barely usable. You can have any other liquid spilled on them and it doesn’t leave a trace. Alcohol ruins its stickiness and you can never pack it as tight as you want to. This should do, though”</em>. I hold up the pathetic-looking joint toward my bed. The ghost is still sitting there. Or leaning would be more accurate as its butt is still facing me no matter how much I move and jiggle around the room.</p>
<p>No alone time this morning it is. I light the joint up, take a deep drag, and finally look the annoying asshole on the eyes. <em>“Do you wanna keep humping my pillow, or would you prefer a drag instead?”</em> It seems to have gotten more annoyed with me than I am with him, go figure. One blow of smoke towards him and he vanishes in it. That’s what it takes for him to leave then. Good, I can drift back to peace.</p>
<p>[...]</p>
<p>The second morning of the day always starts much more pleasant. Dave has put Beatles’ ‘<em>Because</em>’ on full blast on the vinyl player. And of course, it’s the original LP. I couldn’t realize why he refuses to use the new record I bought for him until he showed me. The first vinyl I got for him has a scratch right there in the middle. The scratch is not so deep that it makes the record pop, but it is prominent enough that it replaces part of the song with utter noise. Walking through the hallway, I can hear <em>“Love is old, love is new. Love is all, love is you.”</em> and noise for a few seconds until it clears back up on the second verse of <em>“Because the sky is blue”</em>.</p>
<p>The scratch hides the part of the verse where the harmony jumps ever so subtly from major to minor, giving the song its sad undertone. It’s as if its previous owner paused the record and did it on purpose, to lengthen the harmonic joy. Something I wouldn’t even have noticed if Dave didn’t point it out. It’s so pure how he gathers joy in every part of his day, it becomes addictive at some point.</p>
<p><span class="u">Mental note</span>: Tell Five to pick up a few more records in his next visit.</p>
<p>As the song is about to end, I walk into the living room to find Dave there. He’s hugging the first edition copy of Dune he got last night. Knowing him there’s no surprise he couldn’t keep his mind off its publication since the first time I brought the book up in a conversation. There’s no surprise in the fact that he swallowed it whole, cover to cover, in one night either.</p>
<p><em>“Did you get all the tears out yet?”</em> I finally see him.</p>
<p><em>“I didn’t volunteer them, though.”</em> He lets his head hang from the couch so he can look at me, upside down, with his feet against the baby-pink wall. <em>“And I am still processing the emotions. No spoilers on my actual thoughts of the book”</em>.</p>
<p>He likes to linger over a story or a tale and play it back and forth in his head before he manages to form his true opinion on it. And he never speaks about things he has yet to form an opinion on. It somehow manages to confuse his thought process and he’s not one for bullshitting. That’s why discussing books and stories requires added caution on both parts. I need to throw every thought out to the world and see if it comes back like a boomerang or if it’s gone forever. I guess it’s a good thing that I have all these ugly, cowboy ghosts nagging me every single day. They are sort of forced to listen and ease my thought process.</p>
<p><em>“I’ll make sure to add ‘spoilers’ right next to irony and ghost cheat-codes on the list.”</em> I wink. <em>“Besides I already told you you’re gonna love it. The rest of the spoilers are pointless, no?”</em> I show him the over-ripe fig I picked from the counter with its insides cracking all over its skin. <em>“Here’s one other thing you’ll love. Wanna eat and breathe the book in while sitting on the patio?”</em> I lead the way expecting him to follow any second with my morning kiss.</p>
<p>By now I must have lived in over a hundred houses. Using the term in a generous manner. Between the facilities, crack dens, the horror houses (the academy being the worst by far), and couches I laid on for weeks at a time, this is the first time I live in a proper <em>home</em>. A home I own, and one that I don’t mind sharing. I could not have it any other way though. I cannot imagine the walls of this house haunted by everything but the presence of Dave in it. I can’t imagine how the house would feel if in every turn it had simple corners instead of comfortable nooks.</p>
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